


Rules for Preternatural Affairs

by eris223



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clextober20, Day 4: That Shit is HAUNTED, F/F, Ghosts, bookshop owner lexa, but as always a happy ending, i've done vampires witches and zombies time to tackle ghosts, kinda spooky, paranormal investigator clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27045256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris223/pseuds/eris223
Summary: Clarke Griffin has rules. Rules to keep her safe. Rules to keep her sane. Rules to ensure she always got the proper results.October is always a busy month for Clarke. Something about the cooler weather, longer nights, and that pesky holiday at the end of the month drudge up lots of business. And one case, in particular, has Clarke taking her rule book and chucking it out the window…
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 59
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**_Rule #1: Don’t get emotional._ **

The aging limestone glittered in the late afternoon sun, and Clarke raised her hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant glare. Despite the late October date and the slight chill on the welcomed breeze, the heat of the Texas sunshine barreled down on her body like the fire from hell itself. She wiped her brow before pushing open the heavy wooden door.

A bell jingled throughout the shop as the smell of paper, leather, and ink slammed her senses. The Scarlet Rose was cluttered and old. Her boot-clad feet announced every step with a creak and a groan of aged wood and straining joists. Everything about the bookshop, from the massive and opaque windows to the intricately designed molding, alerted Clarke to just how long the building had been standing. 

One hundred and forty-three years, actually, if the state records were correct.

Clarke trudged towards the vacant checkout counter and leaned her hands on the smooth varnish before peering over. A metal stool with a padded back sat well-worn yet empty. No signs of human life nor the reason she was there. 

Clarke checked her watch. 3:23 pm. A few minutes early, but nothing too extreme.

She sighed and pushed herself off the counter. Her leather messenger bag flopped hard against her hip, and she cringed as its contents, including her brand-spanking-new camera, clattered against each other. She steadied her bag, gripping the shoulder strap, and called through the stacks of books.

“Hello?”

Silence and a dim flicker of an Edison bulb overhead answered.

Clarke weaved through the shop, brushing her fingers along the rows of books. It was impressive, this selection. An eclectic mix of old novels and modern ones, fiction, and nonfiction, stories for young and old. 

She turned a tight corner, stopping at the display at the end of the row. Blurry figures in front of old houses, clouds drifting over the moon, abandoned buildings decayed and daunting in front of a dark and dreary night. Books full of “real” ghost stories, undoubtedly curated for the season.

Clarke sighed as she picked the smallest from the collection. She traced the familiar embossed title, letter by letter. October never failed to bring up the past, despite Clarke’s Herculean efforts to forget it. 

She chuckled under her breath, that sort of ironic laugh that was less about something amusing and most definitely all about being completely annoyed with herself. She could wax poetical about her attempts to distance her present from the past, but that was all for show. The truth of the matter was that she had done very little to forge a unique path for herself. 

But maybe it was the point. Perhaps it was all predetermined, and her life was exactly as planned. There was comfort in that thought, regardless of how disappointing it was. Clarke huffed as she set the book back where she found it, storing her unproductive existential crisis for another time. 

She pushed off from the counter and wandered through the stacks, gliding her hand over a copy of _Rebecca_ that, by the looks of it, was from one of its first printing runs. Clarke suppressed a delighted chuckle as she reached the end of the aisle. 

A display table sat covered with a meticulously curated assortment of graphic novels written by women, and a cute yellow cover caught her eye. Clarke flipped to a random page near the middle. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she read about a sassy old witch complaining that Albert Einstein was small-minded.

“That one is adorable. One of my favorites on the table there.”

Clarke dropped the book to her side, spinning on her heel to meet the sudden voice behind her. A woman, late twenties, leaned against a dark wooden support beam, arms tucked across her chest, hugging a steaming cup of tea. Her wavy chestnut hair tumbled down to one side, the color a stark contrast to the over-sized cream sweater she wore. The sharp angles of her face could have read as frightening or dangerous, but her eyes, while intense, held a gentleness that smoothed those fierce edges.

She was the most arresting woman Clarke had ever seen.

Clarke glanced down at the book in her hands.

“ _Mooncakes_ ,” the woman nodded as she pushed from her perch and approached Clarke, graceful as a lioness but timid as a fox. She stopped a few feet away, still hugging her tea like a security blanket. “If you like sweet and authentic romances set in a richly magical world filled with characters that will feel like family by the end, that one is for you.”

Clarke set the book back where she found it. She glanced up, meeting expectant eyes and a gaze that permeated through to the depths of her soul. Clarke swallowed down that unnerving feeling of someone seeing through her carefully constructed facade and smiled back. “You must be Ms. Alexandra Woods, the owner?”

“Lexa is fine,” the woman nodded, maintaining that penetrating stare.

“Well, Lexa-” Clarke tapped the book on the table. “Throw in some decent queer rep and a diverse cast of characters, and you’ve just described my ideal story.”

Lexa unfurled her tightly held arms and nudged the copy of _Mooncakes_ a fraction of an inch, perfectly aligning the edges to make a seamless stack. “Looks like you’ve found your perfect match then. Lucky you.”

Lexa caught her gaze with a wide-eyed and meaningful regard, and a jolt of adrenaline coursed through Clarke’s veins. Her pounding heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, and Clarke disguised her startled gasp with a quick intake of breath. “Well,” she cleared her throat, pushing down that rush from the flirtatious comment. “I suppose I’ll have to get myself a copy before I leave.”

Lexa glanced to her right. “No,” she whispered under her breath.

“No?” Clarke furrowed her brow.

“No-” Lexa slammed her eyes shut and shook her head a fraction. “I mean, you’d like it. Yes. I, um-” she stopped mid-sentence, turned her back to Clarke, and retreated through the shelves of books.

Clarke stood in stunned silence as the trail of Lexa’s long waves disappeared around a corner. She looked towards her left, right at the spot where Lexa had stared to find nothing but the antique till sitting on the counter. 

Clarke took a deep breath and stepped towards the checkout. The high-back chair glinted in the overhead lighting. It looked normal, ordinary. But there was something else, something off. Clarke extended her hand, reaching out for the empty air in front of the stool-

“This way, Ms. Griffin,” Lexa called out. “Just in the back.”

Clarke snapped her hand back, feeling like a kid caught sneaking a treat from the cookie jar. She blinked a couple of times and shook her head, chuckling at herself for even considering the idea of something strange. She glanced back at the stool, and there it sat. Completely normal, any sign of otherworldly vanished the second Lexa’s voice echoed through the shop. Clarke made her way to the back of the store with a final sigh and shake of her head. 

This area was vastly different from the front, with far fewer books and far more cozy seating arrangements. Blankets draped across the back of half the chairs, and the well-worn red and gold Persian rug covering most of the floor only added to the room’s welcoming and comfortable atmosphere. There was even an electric kettle sat on a table in the corner next to what could only be described as a tea chest and half a dozen mugs of various sizes and colors. 

“Would you like a cup? I have a bit of everything you can dream of.”

Clarke shook her head and turned towards the voice. “No, thank you. I’m not the biggest fan of tea.”

“That’s a shame. Tea can cure just about anything.” Lexa shrugged. She sat on the large leather couch, legs tucked up beneath her, teacup firmly grasped between her hands. Lexa gestured to the two chairs opposite her, and Clarke took the closer one, grabbing the notebook from her messenger bag before settling into the snug seat. 

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Clarke mused as she turned to the marked page in her journal and glanced up.

“You’re right,” Lexa smirked. “It’s not a cure for everything, but it is a remedy for a worried heart.” She brought her tea to her lips and took a slow sip. The air seemed to charge as they locked gazes, and Clarke adjusted in her seat in a desperate attempt to conceal her attraction.

But Lexa was unfazed. She peered over the rim of the cup and stated with surprising confidence and assertion, “My bookshop is haunted.”

Clarke let out a little chuckle. “Well, yes, Ms. Woods. I would hope you suspected as much considering you contacted me for my services. Paranormal investigators rarely get called out for anything less.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_Rule #2: Always perform the initial investigation in daylight._ **

Lexa sat her teacup on the side table, the delicate clink of porcelain on wood loud in their shared silence, yet Clarke kept her gentle eye contact, waiting for Lexa to settle back in her seat.

“Ms. Woods-”

“Lexa.”

“Sorry, professional courtesies are hard to break sometimes,” Clarke smirked, but she dropped that grin with a wave of guilt. Such casual flirting in the middle of a pre-investigation interview was entirely inappropriate and wholly unprofessional. 

Clarke cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Lexa,” she was sure to start with. “You inherited this shop from your great aunt in 2009, correct?”

Lexa didn’t answer, but she needn’t bother with the look in her eyes. It was an expression Clarke was used to at this point. Surprised, a little defensive, most certainly irritated. That look often came when she revealed she knew more about the client than the client expected.

“National Registry for Historic Places,” she clarified. “I do my research.”

That eased Lexa. Her rigid shoulders dropped a fraction, and her sharp jaw unclenched. Confident she wouldn’t clam up, Clarke continued, “What did you do before that? Professionally, I mean.”

“This bookshop is the first and only place I’ve ever worked.”

“Must be close to your heart then.”

“It’s special.”

“And haunted?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me a little about that.”

Lexa reached for her teacup yet again. She wrapped her long fingers around the porcelain and took a sip. “I already emailed you the details. You want the story again?”

“It helps to hear right from the source.”

“I, uh-” Lexa glanced to her left. “I see dead people.”

Clarke leveled an unimpressed glare at her and rolled her eyes. Great. Just when she thought Lexa was intriguing and genuine and beautiful… But she was only another one of those people. Those Halloween band-wagoners who wanted to waste her time and make a mockery of the work she’d chosen to do.

“No! I mean-” Lexa held her hands out in front of her, panicked and desperate. The earnest and mortification in her eyes caught Clarke by surprise. She raised her eyebrows, encouraging Lexa to go on.

“Actually, no,” Lexa huffed an honest laugh as she shrugged. “That’s it. I know it’s one of the most overused movie quotes of all time, but it’s still true. I see dead people. Well, a dead person, really.”

Clarke leaned back in her chair. “Just one apparition?”

“So far.”

Lexa looked much like the timid fox from earlier, and a wave of sympathy engulfed Clarke’s entire body. Despite Lexa’s unfortunate choice of words a moment ago, she meant it. She believed in everything she was saying, so Clarke took a deep breath, and as gently as humanly possible, prodded with a soft, “And?”

“And that’s it,” Lexa’s voice quivered. She looked off to the side, a mystery that Clarke wanted to solve, but not now. 

When she glanced back at Clarke, her expression was more determined, and her tone so much more confident. “I see a dead person. All the time. It’s-” she swallowed a lump in her throat, and when she met Clarke’s gaze, there was an odd softness in her eyes, loving and affectionate. “Scary?”

“Scary,” Clarke repeated. “Is that a question?”

“Yes. I mean, no. It’s not-” Lexa took a steadying breath. “Seeing her every day is not something people usually encounter.”

“It’s a woman,” Clarke scribbled down the new information in her notebook as Lexa nodded. “Duration, time, description of the apparition?”

“She…” Lexa tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and Clarke reminded herself that she was there in an entirely professional capacity, and all wayward notions needed to stop immediately. She crossed her legs and tapped her pen, waiting for Lexa to work through her own thoughts.

“She looks normal,” Lexa finally started. “Her clothing is unusual for now, but I’d imagine she was adhering to the times. Her times. I see her a lot. Whenever she wants me to see her, I suppose.” Lexa smiled bold and bright as if the thought brought genuine joy instead of the usual fear or curiosity. Clarke made a note of that.

But when she looked up from her journal, Lexa cleared her throat, and her face dropped instantly. “When I’m down here at night, alone, after dark, I’ll be re-shelving books, and one will fall without me knocking it over. Chairs move, blankets are tossed about. I know I’m alone, but I’m not.”

“That does sound scary.”

Lexa wrung her hand around her teacup, a nervous twitch, before glancing to the side. “Sometimes, this place gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Lexa whispered.

Clarke struggled to keep the smile down. It was incredibly rude to laugh at a client who seemed so genuine, even if it was a cute phrase that sounded charming coming from those soft lips. But she persevered and miraculously kept on track. “Has anyone else experienced anything odd? Employees? Customers?”

“None that have been reported to me.”

Clarke jotted down her answer.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

Clarke tucked her pen in her notebook before closing it. She was used to defending her methods, and she would be the first person to admit that her scientific skepticism wasn’t the norm in this line of work. Clarke adjusted the necklace tucked safely under her shirt and let the usual response flow from her as simply as letting out a breath of air.

“Have you heard of Ockham’s razor?”

Lexa stared at her, and Clarke took it as a sign to continue.

“It’s a principle that I base all of my investigations on. Paranormal encounters are different for everyone, but very real, very logical occurrences almost always explain away otherworldly phenomena. Taps someone hears in the attic? A raccoon living in their rafters. That feeling of being watched while you sleep? Fuse box below an alarm clock causing a huge electromagnetic field. The simplest explanation is the right one, Ms. Woods.” Clarke smiled and corrected herself. “Lexa.”

Lexa’s eyes twinkled with the setting sunbeams shining through the window. She rested her elbows on her knees and raised a playful eyebrow. “I’m interested in finding out what very real, very logical occurrence is haunting me, Dr. Griffin.”

“Clarke.”

Lexa sat back, surprised, and Clarke smirked. “If you insist on being on a first-name basis, might as well make it mutual.”

Lexa’s cheeks pinked up, and a surge of pride and delight danced in Clarke’s belly. She didn’t understand why or how, but she was well on her way to being wholly smitten.

“So,” Lexa breathed. What’s the next step?”

The next step was research. While the National Registry for Historic Places gave Clarke the basic information, she needed more. She needed to find the original architectural drawings and the current blueprints to cross-reference and discover any common causes of unexplainable sounds: faulty wiring, drafty baseboards, old and forgotten plumbing, all the usual culprits.

Clarke needed to get back to her office, but as she looked into soft and expressive eyes, her resolve crumbled. 

“Now, I set up some equipment.”

*******

The mounting plate snapped into place, and Clarke stood with a satisfied smirk. Her new baby looked perfect, all set up on the tripod for the first time. She pressed a button and sighed in relief as the screen illuminated in the usual violets and blues of infrared imaging. She waved in front of the lens, nodding to herself as the bright yellow of her hand appeared where it should.

“What’s with ghost hunters and EMF detectors?”

Clarke spun around, taking the EMF meter Lexa held out. She tucked it back in her bag and double-checked that the rest of her gear was in easy access. “Everyone gives off electromagnetic radiation, and it’s believed that when you die, it doesn’t disappear.”

“So, ghosts have an electromagnetic field around them.”

“So they say.”

Lexa cocked her head to the side, staring through Clarke once again. “But you don’t?”

Clarke shrugged. “I think there’s some credence to it, but I’ve personally never come across an EMF reading that I couldn’t explain.”

“You’re an odd ghost hunter.”

“Met a lot of paranormal investigators, have you?” Clarke teased, fully laying on the devilish grin and loving the flush it raised from Lexa’s chest.

“Shut up,” Lexa whispered under her breath, and Clarke couldn’t help but laugh.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?”

“No, I mean, yes-” Lexa sighed and smiled a most dazzling smile that took Clarke’s breath away. “You’re the first paranormal investigator I’ve ever met.”

Clarke shook her head, quite pleased with herself, and stepped closer. Lexa’s eyes went wide as air visibly caught in her lungs. And Clarke felt the same. She held her breath as she reached out. 

Lexa’s body stilled with anticipation, and Clarke froze, terrified her touch would be unwelcome. But in a quick and bold decision, Clarke softened her expression, body, everything, and placed a delicate hand on Lexa’s upper arm.

“Lexa,” Clarke gently squeezed. “I am very good at what I do. I will treat this case as professionally and proficiently as I do any other, and I will get to the bottom of what’s haunting you. And when I do, I will do everything in my power to help you deal with it.” Clarke slid her hand down Lexa’s arm and intertwined their fingers. “I promise.”

“But you don’t believe.”

“That’s not true,” Clarke shook her head. “Preternatural affairs exist; I know they do. But completely natural things cause ninety-nine encounters out of one hundred. People like to believe in the otherworldly, even when it’s scary.”

She squeezed her hand one final time and let go, but Lexa didn’t move. She kept perfect eye contact as if an unseen force held them there, staring and breathing in the same air. Lexa leaned in, less than an inch, but Clarke saw. The pull was magnetic.

And right at the moment, Clarke’s phone buzzed, and Lexa sprung away. She wrenched the cursed device from her pocket, and her head slumped at the notification. Sunset. Clarke glanced out the window, and sure enough, the sun dipped below the horizon. Wonderful.

Clarke ran her fingers through her hair, cursing herself for her disregard of the rules. She cleared her throat. “So, where is the activity concentrated?”

A broad and strange range of emotions danced across Lexa’s face. The pinched brow of annoyance, the down-turned mouth of exasperation, and finally, the sag of her shoulders in acceptance. Clarke watched the flash display with curiosity, but before she could comment on it, Lexa sighed. 

“All around, really. But she does like that spot in the front. Just behind the counter.”

The stool behind the checkout till. The same spot Clarke noticed something earlier that afternoon. “Okay, that’s a good place to start.”

She grabbed her tripod and swung her bag over her shoulder before following Lexa into the shop’s main area once more. The soft sunlight that made it feel so cozy and inviting was gone. Nothing but odd shadows, groaning old wood floors, and a waft of warm honeysuckle remained, creating an incredibly eery ambiance. It was a startling difference, and it was precisely why Clarke never did the initial investigation at night. 

But here she was.

Clarke set the tripod facing the stool and loosened the pan head lock. She checked the resistance by guiding the handle first to the left and then to the right. She froze—a lump formed in the back of her throat.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.

A shadow. 

She turned the camera towards it.

But nothing appeared. Just the expected violet and blue of a bookshelf packed with books. Clarke scoffed, silently scolding herself for being so jumpy. 

“Is there something wrong?”

Clarke met Lexa’s curious gaze. “No,” she shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

With a skeptical raise of her eyebrows, Lexa folded her arms across her chest and leaned against a support beam.

“I don’t usually do the initial investigation at night,” Clarke relented.

“Why not?”

“It’s spooky,” Clarke gestured to all the strange shadows around her. “And spooky can play tricks on even the most logical of brains.”

“Then,” Lexa unfolded her arms, and her body radiated hope. “Why are you here?”

Clarke stayed because she was just as intrigued by the charm of the little old shop with its vast collection of books as she was by the beautiful owner with her sharp angles and soft eyes. Not that she could tell Lexa the truth. It was highly inappropriate.

“I-”

A grating scrape of metal on wood startled Clarke. She snapped towards the stool, focusing on it. But nothing happened. Nothing was on the camera. Clarke reached into her bag, pulled out her digital audio recorder, and flipped it on. 

Another slight scrape. The chair wobbled. Clarke glanced back at the camera. Still, nothing unusual registered.

Clarke’s heart thumped wildly against her rib cage as she turned back towards Lexa. She had resumed her post against the beam; her arms crossed lazily as she stared at the stool with calm regard. 

A piercing thud echoed in the still shop, and Clarke used all of her wits to not yelp in fear as she whipped around towards the noise.

“Do you see anything?” Clarke whispered, her voice scratchy and foreign in her throat.

“Mmhmm.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” Lexa nodded. “She’s right over there.” 

Clarke followed Lexa’s finger to the display of ghost stories. Making as little noise as possible, Clarke panned the camera towards it. A dark blue blur, only a flash of color, exited the frame before Clarke could focus on it.

Shadows danced on the floor around her. Her heart pounded so wildly she was half-convinced the audio recorder in her hand picked up the erratic beat. She handed the device to Lexa. Their fingers brushed, electrifying and fleeting.

Clarke grabbed the EMF meter with her now empty hand, aiming it at the display of books. It chimed. She held her breath. She grasped the charm she always wore, something that usually brought her strength and comfort but did little to still the thumping of her heart this evening.

Clarke looked over at Lexa, and she stared off to the side yet again, so calm, so not how Clarke was feeling.

“What are you looking at?” Clarke all but yelled.

The EMF meter pinged again, this time next to Lexa. Whatever it was, it was moving. Clarke’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. She had never encountered anything quite as unexplainable as this. Not since she was- 

Another crash. 

The stool behind the counter toppled over.

Clarke jumped back, her feet tangling in a mess of clumsy limbs, but a solid and warm body stilled her just before she fell. 

Lexa grabbed her arms, steadying Clarke, and smirked. “You look like you could use a cup of tea.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was told by my betas that this gets kinda scary, so.... do with that information as you please!  
> And just to ease perhaps a few troubled minds, there is, without a doubt, a 100% happy Clexa ending (even if there are a few ghosts to contend with first).

**_Rule #3: Never investigate alone._ **

Clarke stared at the black-mirrored screen, the computer long ago entered into its energy-saving sleep mode. Her fingers wrapped around a still-warm mug, tangling around the teabag. She brought the cup to her lips and inhaled the subtle citrusy aroma of bergamot. 

“Dr. Clarke Griffin. Drinking tea. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Clarke spun in her chair, pinching the brow of her nose to stave off the impending headache. “There’s a lot of that going around.” 

Raven pushed off the office doorframe, rolled paper in hand, and leaned against the corner of Clarke’s impressive antique desk. “The Scarlet Rose stuff still getting to you?”

Clarke took another sip of her tea before setting it atop her just finished copy of _Mooncakes_.

It’d been a week since her encounter at the bookshop, and it’d been a week of utter confusion. She rarely experienced fear of the unknown because it was just a mystery, a puzzle to be solved. There was always a concrete answer, and things were never terrifying if the explanation was simple.

But those noises that evening. The flash of temperature change, the stool toppling over. None of it was caused by the usual natural phenomena. She checked everything twice before leaving at an obscene hour the next morning. No sudden draft from a door opening. No busted vent spewing cold air into one location. No faulty wiring. Nothing.

To top it all off, Clarke not only couldn’t get the unexplainable from her mind, but she had been plagued with flashes of flowing brown waves, a sharp jawline, and stares that were so timid yet so damn poignant. Just Lexa, really. 

Lexa Woods. 

The woman who displayed old books and new, who curated sections explicitly for women in comic books. The woman who hugged her cup of tea like a security blanket yet acted as if her paranormal encounters weren’t frightening. 

When Clarke left The Scarlet Rose that next morning, her mind and heart were set. Lexa was someone she wanted to know. Intimately. And if the dozens of text messages over the past week about the case and just life itself were anything to go by, Lexa felt it too.

Clarke took a steadying breath as she adjusted her necklace. “More than I’d like to admit,” she sighed.

“Damn, Griffin. I haven’t seen you this messed up about a case since-” Raven stopped short. “Well, it’s been a while.”

Eager to change the subject, Clarke nudged Raven’s foot. “Is that what I think it is?”

Raven brandished the rolled parcel. “The original—or a copy of the original because no one, not even me, is allowed to take historical documents like that—architectural plan for The Scarlet Rose. As requested.”

Clarke snatched the paper from Raven’s hand and spread it delicately out on her desk. 

“I hope you get what you need from those,” Raven crossed her arms. “I not only had to use my considerable favor cache to even get into the county clerk’s office on a Sunday, but I now have to tutor her son in physics, and you know how I feel about kids. They’re so… sticky.”

Clarke nodded, barely listening to Raven’s tale as she trailed her fingers over the old drawing, tracing every line and searching for anything unusual. “The county clerk’s son is fifteen, Raven. I highly doubt he’s still in his sticky phase.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Griff. Teenage boys-”

Clarke’s finger froze. She pulled the document closer.

“What is it?” Raven leaned over Clarke’s shoulder, eyes scanning the drawing. “Did you find something?”

“What’s that look like to you?” Clarke asked, tapping the paper.

“A wall?”

“Look here-” Clarke traced her finger along the line perpendicular to the oddity. “Do you see that? That’s a wall. This-” Clarke pointed back at the abnormal lines. “This is something else.”

“I don’t know,” Raven sighed. “Looks like a wall to me.”

“We’ll find out tonight.”

“We?”

“Yes,” Clarke set the drawing down and spun in her chair to face Raven. “We’re going back tonight. It’s been on the schedule for three days. You, me, The Scarlet Rose. A full investigation.”

“You should check that schedule again, Griff.”

Clarke furrowed her brows as the screen illuminated her office. Her shoulders slumped. There it was, plain as day. The investigation of The Scarlet Rose was scheduled for November 25th, not October. She’d entered it in the wrong month. 

Clarke raked her fingers down her face, groaning, “I take it you can’t tonight?”

Raven shook her head. “Sunday night is standing date night. The most sacred of days. It’s how we keep the love alive. You know that.”

Clarke’s face fell. She did know that, and her heart sank with guilt for forgetting a tradition her best friend since childhood had for the past three years. “It’s okay,” Clarke forced a smile. “I’ll just reschedule it.”

*******

The sun, well on its way to slumber, cast a golden halo, illuminating The Scarlet Rose like a beacon. A beacon to what, though, Clarke wasn’t sure. 

She stared at the hanging wooden sign, admiring the way it swayed in the autumn breeze. Just a slight wobble, a little creak here and there. It was oddly soothing. 

“Pardon me.”

Clarke jumped aside as a middle-aged man brushed past her, and the movement was enough to snap her out of her reverie. She waved as one did in that awkward nonverbal apology and watched as he greeted a group of people outside the restaurant a little down the way.

The tiny downtown was eclectic and historic, no doubt about that. That restaurant nearby started its life as a broom factory. That coffee shop across the street that Clarke loved and visited far too frequently used to be the old chamber of commerce. Even this bookshop had a different life. The Scarlet Rose began as a pharmacy with a boarding house above it.

Everything was repurposed and reused. There was beauty in that, and Clarke smiled at the thought as she pulled her phone from her pocket.

She scrolled through her messages, landing on the most recent one from Lexa. Just seeing her name illuminated on the screen pulled a deep burst of butterflies from the depths of her core. Clarke cleared her throat, pushing those flitterings down and hiding them away for a more appropriate time.

She ignored The Scarlet Rose’s front door, just as the message instructed, and made her way around the corner to the far less populated side street. An intricate, and if she were honest, sketchy-looking wrought iron staircase ascended in front of her. It groaned and screeched, wobbling here and there, but remained steady under her feet as she climbed to the top. She rapped on the heavy wooden door.

Clarke pulled her black sweater a little tighter as an unusually chilly wind swirled around her. She adjusted the sagging bag on her shoulder and waited. 

Footsteps echoed from behind the door, and a moment later, Clarke was greeted with the warmest smile and sweetest voice. 

“Hi, Clarke.” 

“Lexa,” Clarke greeted with a nod and no hesitation in using her casual and preferred name. 

Lexa smiled again, doing her best to hide a pink flush that colored her cheeks, but Clarke noticed immediately. Lexa stepped aside, beckoning Clarke in.

The loft looked different from the original architectural drawings. Walls had been torn down, rooms opened up to create a more contemporary layout, but much of the original charm remained. It was a perfect blend of old and new, much like the book collection in the business below it. The rich old carpentry and thick windows complemented the modern kitchen and furniture, and it all worked to create the coziest little two bed, one bath Clarke had ever seen. 

She felt at home instantly. 

“You’re very brave,” Clarke said as she adjusted her bag once more.

Lexa closed the door behind them, taking care to lock it properly. “For letting you in?”

Clarke half-laughed and shook her head. “For living in the same building as the entity haunting you.”

“My great aunt left the whole thing to me,” Lexa grimaced. “I was young and just out of college. I couldn’t say no to a free place to live and a job where I could be around books all day. And now, after all this time, it’s home. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

“Like I said,” Clarke shrugged. “Brave.” 

Lexa sucked in a stuttered breath that made her entire chest rise and fall, and a bout of pride burst in Clarke’s belly. She adored having these effects on Lexa. The apples of Lexa’s cheeks darkened as Clarke locked soft eyes with hers, and a similar heat blossomed deep within Clarke’s own skin.

But Lexa’s smile soon fell to a somber frown, and Clarke found herself desperate to quirk those lips back up or at least remove the downturn in them.

“So,” Clarke cleared her throat. “Is it still okay to set up here?”

“Yes,” Lexa nodded as relief danced across her sharp angles. “You can set up in here.”

Clarke trailed a step behind Lexa as she led them to a door just off the hallway. The second bedroom had been converted to an office. A massive antique desk that reminded Clarke of her own sat in front of a large window. 

“I made as much space as I could-” Lexa gestured towards the pristine and mostly clean desk.

“This is perfect,” Clarke assured her and sat her bag on the floor.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lexa excused herself.

Clarke made quick work of setting up her laptop and hard drives, only once needing to set a stack of papers on a nearby bookshelf. As she did, a scrap fell from the stack. She reached down, smiling as she retrieved the dropped item. A familiar sticker. One that Raven had insisted would promote her services efficiently and quickly. She hadn’t been wrong. After they’d plastered the town with these little sticky versions of her face and social handles, the calls rolled in.

It must have been how Lexa heard of her.

Clarke set the sticker atop the pile of papers and finished her preparations. After assuring everything was in its proper place and working order, Clarke grabbed her camera and tripod and found Lexa curled on her couch, nose stuck in a book. 

Clarke didn’t even have to say a word. Her presence alone alerted Lexa, and she set her novel on the table.

“All set,” Clarke waved her flashlight in the air as if to prove her point. “Mind guiding me to the shop?”

Lexa sprung to her feet and opened the door across the living room. Clarke followed, stepping out onto the landing she’d seen in the most recent blueprints. A spiral staircase sat at the end that led down to the cozy room in the bookshop. Clarke shook her head. She’d missed an entire landing and staircase that day, too focused on a beautiful woman to take in her surroundings.

Clarke tucked away all thoughts save the investigation. Now was no time to lose focus. She descended the stairs and headed straight for the front counter, setting up her camera and hitting record.

She adjusted the necklace under her collar and tapped her pockets out of habit, assuring her equipment was ready and waiting. Clarke called up to Lexa with a smile and wave, “You can shut off the lights now.”

Lexa hesitated, biting her lip. “Weren’t there supposed to be two of you?”

“My partner had a previous engagement.”

“It’s just you?”

“Just me.”

Lexa stared off to the side and shook her head. When she turned back around, she caught Clarke’s gaze. “Clarke, I should tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” Lexa mumbled, wringing her hands together. “When I contacted you- I didn’t-”

A shrill ping interrupted Lexa, and Clarke sank her hand into her pocket, pulling out the EMF detector. She guided it around the room, testing the air for the source. But it remained silent. She lowered her hand, disappointed and a little relieved, but when she looked back up at Lexa, her stomach dropped.

Lexa stared to her right, her mouth open in shock, and the confusion in her eyes was on full display.

A subtle waft of honeysuckle drifted through the air, cutting the comforting scent of leather and paper with something sweet and foreign. Clarke turned to follow it, raising her EMF meter once again.

“Lexa?” Clarke called into the night. “When your apparition appears, do you notice any distinct smells?”

“Smells?”

Clarke jumped and grasped her chest. The voice was close, so close, right over her shoulder and not where she expected it to be. She calmed herself with two long breaths.

“Do you smell that?” Clarke repeated.

Lexa stepped next to her, holding her head high, and inhaled deeply. “I-”

A rhythmic thump-thump scratch pierced the night. Clarke whipped towards the sound, her EMF twilling as it pointed at the exact spot the odd wall appeared on the architectural drawings. 

Clarke scurried across the shop, snatching her tripod and setting it to face the wall. 

“This wall,” she rambled as she refocused her camera. “Do you know what’s behind it?”

“It’s just a wall,” Lexa shook her head. “Clarke-” Lexa reached out for her, but Clarke was on a mission, head down, and not registering the need in Lexa’s voice. “I have to tell you something.”

Clarke placed her hand against the old wood. She traced the smooth surface, knocking when her fingers arrived in the middle of the panel. “I don’t think it’s just a wall.”

“About why you’re here.”

Clarke slid her fingers around the boiserie. “I think this is a door of some sort.”

“I called you because I-”

“There’s usually a latch or a catch somewhere.” Clarke used both hands, gliding and searching for any imperfection in the moulding, any indention or sign it hid something more. 

“I’m trying, okay?” Lexa’s voice didn’t register in Clarke’s mind. Just background noise, easily tuned out. “I’m trying to tell- Clarke-”

“It can be stuck due to years of paint or varnish sealing it shut,” Clarke mumbled as her fingers caught on a small lip.

“What? What do you mean?”

“But with a little elbow grease…”

“Don’t open it. Clarke, don’t-”

“You can usually-” 

“Clarke, no!”

A strong hand landed on Clarke’s shoulder just as the wall popped open. “Got it,” Clarke smiled.

She slipped her fingers around the thick wood, pulling it all the way open. A rush of cold air swirled around them as the EMF meter in her pocket pinged wildly. Clarke aimed her flashlight down. 

The cool beam of light illuminated a worn set of stairs, coated with dust and grime and age. Cobwebs caught the light, reflecting back eldritch shadows. It was all pretty much as creepy as creepy could get, yet Clarke’s heart thumped with eager anticipation.

This room could be the answer to all her questions. There could be a decades-old fuse box sparking with its last leg or a nest of raccoons scurrying about. Besides, it wasn’t every day she found a basement in an old building in Texas. The limestone bedrock was notoriously expensive to dig through, and with a practically non-existent frost line and plenty of land to build out instead of down, these rooms just didn’t exist.

She took a tentative step. 

A low and eerie hum invaded her ears, and the smell of sweet honeysuckle grew stronger. The wood groaned under her feet as she descended farther. 

“Did you know this was here?” Clarke called over her shoulder.

When silence met her question, Clarke turned around, puzzled. Lexa stood at the top of the stairs, eyes wide and trained in front of her. She was frozen. “Please come back up,” she whispered with a trembling voice.

“This is what I do,” Clarke assured her. “The answer to what very real, very logical thing that’s haunting you could be down here. I promised I’d find out, and I keep my promises.”

“Clarke,” Lexa shook her head, and even in the low light, her ashen skin was apparent. “I didn’t call you to figure out who’s haunting me. I saw your stickers. I- Please,” Lexa glanced over her shoulder before rounding on Clarke with alarm. “She says you need to get out of there. Now!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Clarke!” Lexa lunged forward, but it was too late. The door slammed shut, bathing Clarke in darkness. Her flashlight flickered.

Clarke gave it a shake and smacked the bottom. That did the trick. She aimed her steady light down, and Lexa banged and shouted from behind the closed door.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but Clarke had been in seemingly scarier situations before. There was nothing to be afraid of. Darkness couldn’t hurt her. Gusts of frigid air couldn’t harm her. The honeysuckle aroma couldn’t kill her.

Clarke stepped down, one by one, until her feet planted on a level hardwood floor. She waved her flashlight around, illuminating the dark corners of the room. Rusted lanterns and burnt out candles adorned the wooden shelves. An old round table sat in the middle of the room, taking up most of the space.

Despite her internal reassurances, Clarke’s breaths grew shallow and quick. Her heartbeat increased further. She took another step.

Her feet tangled on something hard, and a dull ache radiated through her wrists as she caught herself on the hard floor. 

Something scurried across the wood—just an animal.

Clarke pulled herself to her feet, taking a deep breath. It reeked of honeysuckle.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt sick to her stomach. This was wrong. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Lexa’s haunting wasn’t caused by the usual logical occurrences. Maybe this really was preternatural.

And not just preternatural. Bad. This was bad.

It felt just like that night.

A barely-there voice, nothing more than a longing rasp on the wind, cut through the night. “Where’s Elinor?”

Clarke whipped her flashlight around, scanning the darkness for the source of the whisper. The light danced eerily around low beams and sharp corners, casting shadows and escalating Clarke’s fear. 

“Where’s Elinor?” Closer, more panicked, and Clarke’s heart caught in her throat.

She swallowed, struggling to push down the sudden dryness. Her voice scratched and croaked as she mustered the courage to respond. “Elinor?”

A soft breath of air tickled her neck just before a violent and angry voice cried out, “WHERE’S ELINOR?”


	4. Chapter 4

**_Rule #4: Always be safe and cautious._ **

Fingers dug into her shoulder, and Clarke screamed as she was spun around.

Eyes ablaze, Lexa released Clarke and slid her hand down, intertwining their fingers. She tugged, hard, and Clarke didn’t resist. Lexa led them up the stairs, two at a time. She slammed the hidden door shut, the thud reverberating through the entire shop, and in one fluid movement, released Clarke’s hand and slid a table in front of the wall.

Without a word, Lexa grasped Clarke’s hand once more and dragged her up the spiral staircase to the loft. Door locked, Lexa let go, leaving a dazed Clarke in the entryway. She bustled in the kitchen, and Clarke snapped out of her stunned silence.

She followed Lexa like a lost puppy, leaning against the small island. The burner clicked, and a soft whoosh filled the kitchen as the gas ignited in a fiery blue ring. Lexa set a full kettle atop the stove before assembling two mugs with a chamomile bag in each. Preparations done, Lexa leaned her hands on the counter, sucking in deep breaths.

Clarke watched the whole display, transfixed and overwhelmed to do much more, but the sight of Lexa struggling to calm herself set Clarke’s wits back to their proper alignment.

“Are you okay?” Clarke prodded gently.

Lexa whirled around, her mouth agape. “Me? Am I okay? I wasn’t the one trapped in a secret room with a malicious ghost. I should be asking you if _you’re_ okay!” Lexa softened, quiet, and pleading. “Please tell me you’re okay.”

The care and earnest in her voice shocked Clarke into yet another bout of speechlessness.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get to you,” Lexa rambled to fill the silence. “It felt like it took her forever to break through, but as soon as she did, I came for you.”

Clarke adjusted her necklace. It was heavy and body-warmed, just like it always was, and it was the sort of predictable comfort she craved.

“Clarke,” Lexa rested her hand on Clarke’s shoulder, staring into her glazed eyes. “Are you okay? What happened down there?”

“Nothing,” Clarke shook her head, filling her mind with the recent past. “The door closed. I walked down. There was a voice, and then you grabbed me. It was nothing. Nothing happened.”

She’d spared Lexa the worst part of the truth. She didn’t mention the way the hair on the back of her neck stood on end or the vile grumblings in her stomach. It was a kindness, she supposed, not telling Lexa that although nothing happened, Clarke was certain something terrible would have. 

Regardless of Clarke’s downplay of the event, Lexa remained worried. Her brow wrinkled as she bit her lip. Her pained gaze illuminated the room, bathing Clarke in a dichotomous blanket of comfort and nerves. 

A shrill whistle jolted Lexa from her stare, and as she turned to pour the boiling water into the waiting mugs, Clarke stuttered in a breath. Since first stepping into The Scarlet Rose last week, Clarke had been pulled in a million different directions, and the confusion just seemed to escalate.

“Honey?”

Clarke shook her head, and Lexa gracefully handed over the steaming cup. They settled on the couch, sitting close, so close their legs touched. But the contact was welcome and soothing, and Clarke was desperate for it. They sat in silence, Lexa blowing on the too-hot tea and Clarke staring as the steam swirled and danced above the hot liquid.

Whatever was in that room was, without a doubt, preternatural. Clarke was sure of it. There was no logical or real explanation for that voice nor that feeling. She’d felt it before. 

One night, years ago, she followed her father. That night she had her first and, up until today, only encounter with the dead. The same sinking in her stomach, the same low hum buzzing in her ears. Only that time, a beautiful bookshop owner hadn’t been there to pull them out-

A hand, warm and soft, grasped hers.

Clarke glanced down as those delicate fingers squeezed, and in a single moment, the tension in her body lessened. Her shoulders dropped and settled with the weight of the past gone. Her lips relaxed into a content state.

“That’s better,” Lexa smiled. Her fingers uncoiled, sliding away, but Clarke seized them and held them in place. She wasn’t ready to let go.

Lexa glanced over Clarke’s shoulder and nodded. “I know,” she sighed.

“You know what?”

Lexa set her tea down, and Clarke mirrored her. Lexa squared her shoulders. “Clarke, I have to tell you something.”

Clarke took in a steadying breath. Good news rarely came from those six cursed words, so she steeled her body and mind.

“I didn’t contact you for your paranormal investigative services.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, and a flush of confusion ignited in her chest. 

“Well, I did,” Lexa hastened to clarify. “But it wasn’t my real motivation. A woman dropped off some of your stickers months ago, and I looked you up out of curiosity. At first, it was disbelief because all those shows and books, they’re just so dramatic and not even close to real, and we assumed you were the same. But then I read your bio and, after some digging, found your published novel. I even ordered some copies for the shop. You seemed different. And well-”

Lexa wrung her hands together, gathering strength. “I- I developed a crush. And she thought it was hilarious. She teased and teased, and I finally got tired of her, or she got tired of me talking about you, so I called. And you came.” 

Clarke sat in stunned silence, her rage boiling just under the surface. “You called me out here because you have a crush on me? That’s-”

“I know,” Lexa panicked. “I’m so sorry. I know you must think that I wasted your time, but everything I told you about her is true. I do see her. She is dead. I am haunted. But she’s not a threat. She’s my friend.”

Clarke sat up straighter and kept her voice even and professional. “The activity I encountered that first night?”

“That was her,” Lexa swallowed nervously. “She wanted to give you a reason to come back.”

“Lexa-” Clarke shook her head. “The hidden room?”

“I had no idea it was there,” Lexa assured her, and despite it all, Clarke believed her. Lexa glanced to the side, and her eyes turned cold and hard. “She did. Apparently.”

“Your friend?”

Lexa nodded.

“She’s here?” Clarke glanced around the room, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. “Right now?”

“She’s sulking over there,” Lexa glowered at the corner. “As she should be.”

Clarke pushed down her instinct to ask a million questions and settled on the most pressing one. “Does she know what that room is? Who’s down there?”

Lexa glared at the corner, and Clarke watched a vast range of emotions splay across her face—anger softened to sympathy, which melted into confusion and alarm. After another moment, Lexa sighed, turning towards Clarke once more.

“As I’m sure you know, The Scarlet Rose used to be a pharmacy with a boarding house above. The woman who ran the boarding house, she died in that room. A group of men, some sort of secret brotherhood, met there without her knowledge. One night, she woke to a noise and found her daughter missing from bed. She wasn’t in the boarding house, so the woman went downstairs. She heard noises and saw the light shining from that hidden room. When she walked in, they killed her. They didn’t want their secret out, so they hid the body down there. Locked the door, sealed it shut, found a new place to meet. The world forgot about her.”

Clarke’s heart panged with sympathy and anger, but she kept on track. “And her daughter?”

Lexa averted her eyes, staring at the corner instead of Clarke. “Had just wandered outside to watch the first snowfall. She grew up and ran her mother’s boarding house until she died of pneumonia in 1901. She was 28.”

Clarke followed Lexa’s pained gaze. “And she never left.”

“No.”

“What’s her name?”

“Elinor.”

Clarke’s eyes went wide as she fumbled for the device in her pocket. She held her digital audio recorder in her hand, and after a few tries, found the recording she was looking for. 

Clear as a cloudless day, a raspy and vicious voice echoed in the cozy loft, “Where’s Elinor?”

She flicked it off and spun to face the corner Lexa kept addressing. Although she couldn’t see a damn thing, Clarke asked Elinor anyway, “Are we safe?”

“She says as long as we don’t go down there again, we are.”

“What happens if I do?”

“She’s killed in the past.” Lexa grasped Clarke’s hands once more. They were clammy this time, and her brows drew together. “Clarke, please don’t go back down there.”

Gently, Clarke removed herself from Lexa’s hold. “I promised I’d help you with whatever was haunting you. Just because it isn’t what I originally thought it was, doesn’t mean I’m going to break my promise. The seal on that door was broken, and closing it won’t hold her there much longer.”

With that, Clarke rose from the couch and marched into the office to pack up her things. It was remarkable how quickly she could get through something when her anger was involved. In less than five minutes, Clarke’s gear was all tucked away.

“Clarke-” Lexa reached for her shoulder as she strode to the door.

Clarke shrugged out of her grasp. “I have a plan.”

She glanced at the door leading down to the bookshop and adjusted the heavy bag on her shoulder. This investigation had just turned from her usual debunking to straight-up exorcism. It wasn’t something she did. Ever. But she knew what to do. She’d seen her father do it once before. 

Clarke grasped her necklace, taking all the strength she could from it, and turned to leave.

“Clarke, wait-” Lexa’s voice broke. Her arms hung down at her sides, and her downturned lips hid nothing. She was in pain over this.

Clarke was confused yet again. Lexa betrayed her, messed with her livelihood. Still, Clarke felt the connection and wondered if she would have done the same to meet someone she liked. It wasn’t as if Lexa lied about everything. It was more of a twist of the truth. But that twist led to a dangerous situation.

Clarke shook her head. Lexa was clouding her thoughts, and she needed her wits about her for what was next. She wrapped her hand around the metal doorknob and turned. As she stepped out onto the iron landing, a gust of wind swirled around her. 

“I liked you too, by the way,” Clarke called over her shoulder.

“Liked?”

“I don’t appreciate being tricked or lied to.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Clarke turned around, a wave of guilt crashing around her. “Do you have somewhere you could stay for the night?”

Lexa shook her head. 

“Pack a bag.”

*******

It was late. Clarke leaned back in her desk chair, staring out her dark window. She needed to sleep, but she couldn’t. Clarke glanced at the small smooth stone in her hand and ran her thumb along the newly etched symbol.

“That’s pretty.”

Clarke straightened in her chair. Lexa stood in the doorway, timid and quiet. Not that Clarke minded the silence. She was still upset about Lexa’s whole ruse, but on some level, she didn’t care. She liked Lexa, and she even understood why she did what she did. But Clarke was nothing if not stubborn.

“A six-petal rosette, created by seven overlapping circles.” Clarke stood and offered the stone to Lexa. “Versions of this symbol have been around since the Late Bronze Age. It’s found all over the world— on Roman mosaics, old Spanish stelae, ancient wall paintings, medieval door-frames.”

Lexa handed it back with an inquisitive expression.

“Have you heard of apotropaic magic?” Clarke asked.

“No.”

“Good luck charms, crossed fingers, knocking on wood, horseshoes over doorways,” Clarke explained. “That’s all apotropaic. Intended to ward off harm or misfortune. It’s mostly superstition, but sometimes superstition stems from truth.”

“Now you believe in magic?”

“I told you preternatural affairs exist,” Clarke nodded once. “It’s just much rarer than people think.”

“Clarke-”

Lexa looked so remorseful. And so beautiful. Clarke cracked. She smiled, soft and sad, her heart still hurt, but the gesture was a promise that maybe. 

Lexa understood; Clarke knew she did with the way she smiled back. She turned to leave but stopped short in the doorway. “I just wanted-” Lexa sighed and took a moment to steady herself. “When you were down in that room, I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life. And not because of that thing, whatever she is, but because you were trapped with it. I was scared for you. I- May I hug you?”

Such a simple request, and yet, such a surprising one. Clarke could only nod. 

Lexa flew across the room, wrapping Clarke up. As she held on, Clarke placed a hand on her back, and Lexa sunk into her. She felt good and right, as if this embrace was the one thing Clarke had been missing her whole life. 

She melted. 

Clarke was ready to forgive Lexa for everything. A terrifying thought. So she slowly stepped away.

A beautifully pink flush rose from Lexa’s chest. “So,” she cleared her throat and smiled. “Is that stone going to keep the ghost at bay?”

Clarke turned it over in her hand, glancing back at the stack of research on her desk. “Not exactly.”

*******

“No matter how haunted this place is, I still love it.”

Clarke glanced at the woman next to her, not even fighting the smile that crept across her face. She followed Lexa’s gaze and sighed as The Scarlet Rose’s sign swayed in the morning breeze. 

“I suppose there’s a certain charm about it.”

Lexa nudged Clarke with her shoulder. “It’s okay to admit you like it too.”

“I’ll admit it when I’ve finished what I’m about to do.”

“What _we’re_ about to do,” Lexa corrected.

Clarke leveled her with a heavy sigh, and Lexa stood firm, arms crossed over her chest. “I’m not letting you go down there alone again.”

Clarke couldn’t help the deep pang of affection in her chest. Damn Lexa and her chivalry. A grin threatened to burst forward, but as Lexa unlocked the front door, all levity vanished.

A familiar aroma of paper, leather, ink, and honeysuckle slammed Clarke’s senses once more as she stepped over the threshold. Her bag swayed against her hip, and her steps, though muted with her appropriate footwear, still groaned with the old joists.

“Hello,” Lexa waved into the dark shop.

“Elinor?” Clarke asked.

“Yes,” Lexa smiled. “She says hello.” 

With a determined nod of her head, Clarke beelined to the hidden room. She set up her camera and readied her remaining gear. She wrapped her hand around the stone in her pocket. Mouth dry and skin tingling with anticipation, she tracked the etched pattern with her thumb.

She was ready. As ready as she’d ever been, but her preparedness did nothing to quell the fear bubbling beneath the surface. Nevertheless, it had to be done.

“Everything set?”

Clarke turned and smiled at Lexa. “Just about.”

Lexa’s chest rose and fell with the breath she took, but it did little to disguise the tremble over her body.

“Hey,” Clarke placed a tentative hand on her forearm. “Do you have anything black?”

Lexa cocked her head to the side, brows furrowed, and Clarke’s guilt spiked to an astronomical level. She gestured to her own attire, all black from head to toe. “Black clothing doesn’t reflect light. No accidental ghostly sightings or tricks of the eye. It’s a paranormal investigator standard.”

Lexa’s shoulders dropped in relief and understanding as she surveyed her own purple flannel and blue jeans. “Okay,” she said. “I can change. I'll be right back.”

Lexa scurried away, and as soon as the door above the landing clicked shut, Clarke pried the hidden door open. She wasn’t about to endanger someone else’s life on a plan that may or may not work. Especially if that someone was Lexa.

The door swung shut behind her, and Clarke flicked on her flashlight, illuminating the staircase in a cone of light. 

The air around her hummed, low and dense.

The sweet smell of honeysuckle threatened to drown her.

Clarke took a deep breath.

The cool beam of light radiating from her hand flickered.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Rule #5: Never get attached to the client._ **

Monumentally stupid. There was no other way to describe it.

She was an investigator, not a fixer. Get in, figure it out, get out. That was it. No messing with the apparitions themselves. No getting personally involved. Never.

So why was Clarke standing on a creaking step with nothing but her trusty flashlight to illuminate a pitch-black secret room that housed a malicious ghost who reeked of honeysuckle and bad vibes? 

It was a crazy detailed question with a simple answer. 

Lexa.

In the span of a week, that woman had inadvertently coerced Clarke into breaking just about every rule she had in place for herself. If she weren’t terrified out of her mind, Clarke might’ve chuckled at herself for falling into the stereotype of getting attached stupid fast.

“Clarke?” Lexa’s muffled voice seeped through the wall behind her. “No, Clarke!” 

Heavy thuds pounded her ears as Lexa banged on the unmoving door, and Clarke’s heart twilled with guilt. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, brushing the door with her fingers as if she could comfort Lexa through the solid old wood. “It’ll be alright.”

Absorbing as much courage as the tiny charm could give her, Clarke adjusted her necklace and descended into the darkness.

The simple act of breathing grew difficult, each step drying her already Sahara-like throat further. Her mind wandered to the research she’d done the night before. All those unexplained deaths over the years. Men and women, dead, all perfectly healthy other than their lack of beating hearts. 

It wasn’t a surprise that Lexa hadn’t known. The last death occurred over fifty years ago, just before her great aunt bought the place. That was also when a contractor drew up the new blueprints, and if Clarke was a betting woman, she’d put her money down on that being when this hidden room was painted over and sealed.

Not like any of that information mattered at the moment.

Her feet hit the floor with a soft groan.

“Where’s Elinor?”

“Right on cue,” Clarke whispered under her breath. 

The low rumbled hum that accompanied this room grew unstable, drumming in her ears. A sudden tightness clamped around Clarke’s heart. It squeezed. Hard.

Clarke choked at the sudden lack of oxygen, and her flashlight clattered on the floor as it slipped from her fingers.

“I know where Elinor is,” Clarke gasped. The pressure released a fraction, and Clarke sucked in a dire gulp of air.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

Before she could turn, the pressure resumed with a vengeance. 

Clarke struggled to breathe. A sharp pain, as if she were stabbed through the heart, exploded in her chest. 

She grasped the stone in her pocket, but she couldn’t speak.

The world spun around her. Dark colors and nondescript shapes blurred her vision. She dropped to her knees.

The noise was deafening. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see.

This was it. She’d been so stupid. So insanely stupid. Stuck in a hero complex, trying to save everyone but herself.

A warm arm wrapped around her middle, and deft fingers pried the stone from her hand.

Lexa held the charm high, her voice trembling but gaining conviction. “We will take you to Elinor.”

A gust of cold wind swirled the smell of honeysuckle around. Flashes of muted grays and whites engulfed the room, blinding Clarke.

But then it was silent and still and dark. The pressure on her chest disappeared along with the sickly sweet smell of honeysuckle. 

Clarke leaned into the warm body still wrapped around her.

Lexa gasped, and the etched stone clattered to the floor. It rolled halfway across the room, stopping in the beam of light still radiating from Clarke’s dropped flashlight.

Clarke stumbled to her feet and retrieved the charm. Frost blanketed it, freezing Clarke’s palm, but she held on.

She startled as a warm and tentative hand rested on her lower back.

“Sorry,” Lexa murmured, and when she retrieved her hand, Clarke shivered at the lack of contact. “Are you okay?”

Clarke adjusted the necklace under her collar and mustered a soft smile. She nodded.

“That’s good,” Lexa breathed. She proceeded to shove Clarke in the shoulder, and Clarke braced herself, steadying her feet so as not to tumble to the ground. “You’re an absolute asshole,” Lexa stated.

Clarke grimaced in the low light and let Lexa glower at her. She understood. She did trick her. But she also had reason to, so she stood her ground and crossed her arms. “I won’t apologize for trying to do this alone.” Clarke took a step back, hands up in surrender, as Lexa leaned forward, ready to shove her again. “But I will say that I am sorry for lying. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” Lexa snarled.

“Maybe not, but it did work out-” Clarke opened her palm. “In the end.”

Lexa ran a single finger over the cold etched stone. “She’s in there.”

“For now,” Clarke nodded. She closed her fist, gripping the stone rigid and secure. “But it won’t hold her forever. We need to finish this.”

Clarke heard the sigh in Lexa’s voice. “So we’re a ‘we’ now?”

“If you’d like.”

Instead of a verbal answer, Lexa held out her hand, and Clarke happily took it. They climbed the steps out of the hidden room, and Clarke sighed as the comforting smell of leather and paper and ink engulfed her. Clarke and Lexa walked hand in hand through the stacks of books, but before Clarke could step outside, Lexa tugged on her hand.

“Elinor would like a moment.”

Clarke held the stone aloft. A gentle breeze tickled her skin, like a feather dancing delicately on the palm of her hand. Goosebumps exploded down her spine, and her body tingled as if an electric current had made its home there.

But as quick as it started, the sensation was gone, and Lexa once again took Clarke’s hand. “Thank you,” Lexa smiled.

They walked the short distance to the tiny cemetery just off Main Street, and after a few minutes of searching, found the gravestone they were looking for.

“Here she is,” Lexa’s voice quivered, and Clarke squeezed her hand in comfort. “Elinor Albright.”

Clarke knelt in the dew-soaked grass, and using a twig found nearby, dug a hole just at the base of the grave marker. She pressed the freezing stone deep into the soft dirt and covered it completely, securing it with a few scattered rocks on top. 

“There,” Clarke wiped her hands on her black jeans as she stood. “She should be at peace now.”

Lexa placed a reverent hand on the headstone, and Clarke was more than content to let her have a moment alone. She settled on an iron bench just at the entrance, her head resting on the high back. The sun warmed her cheeks, lulling her into a satisfying state of peace.

Clarke peeked an eye open as a shadow blocked her precious sun.

“So-” Lexa pulled her to her feet. “That’s it? No more evil ghost?”

Clarke linked her arm around Lexa’s and led them out of the graveyard. “We forget that spirits were once people. They suffer the same emotions we do: love, longing, sorrow. Over time, those emotions intensify and fester, and without proper release, sometimes they manifest in dangerous ways. This woman longed to find her daughter. We helped her do that. She can rest now.”

Lexa nodded, solemn and sad, and Clarke slid her hand down to intertwine their fingers. They walked hand in hand down Main Street, but instead of crossing the busying road, Clarke tugged Lexa through familiar doors.

She sat at her usual table inside her usual coffee shop, but her usual cup of coffee was replaced by an unusual tea latte, and instead of her usual solo date, she had an unusually beautiful woman by her side.

“I see you’ve been converted,” Lexa raised her eyebrows towards Clarke’s cup.

“Not nearly,” she protested. “Tea has less caffeine, and I really don’t need the extra jitters after this morning.”

Lexa smirked and mumbled a triumphant “mmhmm” into her own cup of tea. Clarke let her smug victory slide for now.

“To think, I’ve been coming to this shop for years, and I’ve never seen you here before. You live just across the street.”

“I work a lot.”

Clarke leveled Lexa with a generous side-eye, and with a reluctant huff of air, Lexa admitted, “And I don’t trust coffee shops to make a decent cup of tea.”

The laugh bubbled through Clarke’s chest and erupted in a bout of pure giggles. “So,” she stuttered out through laughs. “How is it? Does this tea meet your standards? 

Lexa set her cup down and caught Clarke’s eye. “Present company makes up for the over-steeped and stale tea.”

“Flirt.”

“I’m certainly trying.”

Clarke hid her smile in the last sip of her latte. “Are you finished?”

Lexa nodded, and Clarke cleared the table for them. They walked side by side across the street and paused in front of The Scarlet Rose. Clarke reached for her necklace, adjusting it under her collar.

“You keep doing that.” Lexa reached for Clarke’s hand. “When you’re nervous.”

Clarke smiled and pulled out the charm.

“A six-petal rosette,” Lexa mumbled as she traced her thumb over Clarke’s necklace.

“Repeated over and over to create an intricate flower,” Clarke explained. “The flower of life.”

Lexa set it against Clarke’s chest, and Clarke resisted the urge to tuck it away. “My father gave it to me when I was a child after my first, and up until now, only encounter with a real malicious entity. It’s a good luck charm. My own bit of apotropaic magic.”

“Has it brought you good luck?”

She shrugged, “You tell me.”

Clarke reached forward, tangling her fingers in long wavy hair, and brought them together. The kiss was soft and sweet, yet it made Clarke’s knees tremble. They broke apart with elated sighs, and Lexa hurried to unlock the front door. 

In the privacy of the cozy shop, Lexa pulled Clarke into another kiss. Their mouths slanted together, and Clarke grasped Lexa’s waist to keep herself grounded.

The antique till dinged, springing them apart. Lexa rolled her eyes at the front counter, and despite the apparent annoyance written on her face, she smiled with pure affection.

“Is this going to be a regular thing?” Clarke smirked as she coiled her arms around Lexa’s neck once more. Clarke nuzzled into her, absorbing the comfort and warmth the embrace evoked.

Lexa cocked her head to the side, and with the smuggest yet sexiest raise of her eyebrow, smirked, “I told you my bookshop was haunted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my awesome beta and good friend @slythleo who ALWAYS reads this craziness and keeps me sane!


End file.
